


you make it so good I don't wanna leave

by ships_to_sail



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fantasy, M/M, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, poor stevie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail
Summary: Patrick takes his $20 back and slips it into his back pocket. “You know, if you really want to make it up to us, I can think of another way.” It feels awkward, like bad porn dialogue, and Patrick's never propositioned another person. There’s a voice in his head that’s shouting at him to take it all back, to turn around and walk away and take David home, just like they’d planned. But he remembers their conversation about Ken, about the experiences that exist in the world that Patrick hasn’t had the chance to experience yet. And he doesn’t want to lose the game because he never even bothered playing. He’s not really sure this is the best time, or the best place, but the words are already out his mouth. The blood fills his cheeks and his face is hot, but the bartender looks him up and down, slowly, before crossing his arms and leaning over the bar.“I’m off in an hour. What exactly did you have in mind?”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 152





	you make it so good I don't wanna leave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aulauem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aulauem/gifts).



> For Aulauem, who is a total sweetheart and deserves nice things.
> 
> For better or worse, this is the thing they're getting.

"Not right now.” Three words that contain universes worth of possibilities. When David opened the door to the motel room and saw Patrick, all buttoned-up and mid-ranged, his heart somersaulted into his throat. When Patrick told him in a flood of words that he had no interest in seeing other guys, his arms wrapped around him and pulled him close and rubbed his back through the horror of squared-off pointy shoes. But somewhere, without realizing it, his brain squirreled away the "right now" that Patrick ended his sentence with, buried it like a precious seed and let it grow where direct attention couldn't kill it.

It grew through meeting each others families, through performances and proposals and a wedding. It grew for years, until it was big enough that it caught David's attention. 

"So, I was thinking." They're in each others arms, sweaty and naked and emotionally flayed, at their most willing to be vulnerable. David knows this spot, knows it's where all of his more wild ideas have been best received. Patrick makes a little humming sound, not loud enough to be heard but enough that David can feel it where his head rests over Patrick's heart. David takes a deep breath and continues. "Do you remember Ken?"

"Who forgets those shoes. Why?"

"Did you ever think you'd want to, um. Try that again?"

David feels Patrick shift beneath him, pulling back enough that he can look down at David. "Don't tell me you still have Ken's number."

David smiles. "No, not with Ken. Just. In general."

"Is that something you've been thinking about doing, David?" Patrick's voice is low, and he's running his fingertips across the top of David's shoulder, which is making him feel dizzy. 

He breathes through the next words he needs to say. He needs them to be perfect. "Not for me. But it's something I've been thinking I owe to you. But we don't – I don't want to do this if it's something you're not interested in."

"You don't owe me anything." Turns out being married for years isn't enough to get rid of all the dusty demons in the corner of the closet. David nods against his chest, but stays silent. He knows Patrick, knows how the gears of his kind turn against each other, and right now he's running this conversation through all the formulae he needs to come to an answer. "But if this is something you've had in your head this long, I'd be willing to talk about it. Tomorrow?"

David is exhausted and so is Patrick and David has gotten what amounts to a yes from Patrick so he curls into his shoulder and mumbles, "We can talk whenever you'd like."

*

They do talk about it, in bits and pieces over the next week. ‘Ground rules’, as Alexis would call them, and preferences, potential plans, what it might look like and what absolutely wouldn’t be happening. And then, they don’t talk about it anymore. They continue to work at the store, and go to game nights at Ted’s, and eat the occasional dinner with Moira and Johnny, all the touchstones of their life as it exists. 

It's been two months and they're out at a bar with Stevie the next time it comes up. 

"Cheers to the happy couple. Three more years and I win $150." She raises a shot of whiskey and downs it in a flash. David and Patrick share a conspiratorial look before Patrick swallows his and David takes a long sip, setting the glass back down. 

“Very classy,” David says at the same time that Patrick says, “We love you, too,” and Stevie rolls her eyes and downs another shot before punching David lightly on the arm. 

“So! What’s next?”

“What do you mean, what’s next? This is the next.”

“There’s dancing,” Patrick points at the dance floor with his beer bottle, and David and Stevie look at him with various levels of disgust.

“Oh absolutely not,” David says.

“I’m going to need at least, like, four more of these,” Stevie says, picking up her shot glass and sliding out of the bar stool. Patrick and David watch her go, Patrick resting his hand on David's knee under the table. David ducks his head closer and they begin to play a round of their favorite bar game, Spot the Minor. They’re half-way through round three, debating about a group of giggly blondes in the corner, when Stevie comes back with her eyes sparkling.

“Hey,” she says. It’s all she says.

“Hey,” David says, wary. He looks back and forth between her and the bar behind her. “What’s up?”

“I met a guy.”

David stretches his neck so far, it’s a bit of a miracle he doesn’t strain anything.

“That’s awesome,” Patrick says sincerely, raising his beer to toast against her next shot. They both drink, but David is still scanning the crowd.

“Oh, oh is that lovely looking gentleman in the denim vest? Or maybe that delightful specimen over there with the ‘King of Beers’ t-shirt? I know. It’s the guy whose hiking sandals are wrapped around his greying athletic socks.”

“You’re an asshole,” Stevie says through the smile on her face. She rolls her eyes and puffs out her chest a little bit. “For your information, he’s the bartender.”

David’s face lights up like a Christmas tree and Patrick shakes his head. “David, no.”

“But, my glass is empty, dearest,” he deadpan whispers and then he’s on his feet and beelining for the bar before Stevie can pull him back to the table. Patrick watches them disappear into the crowd and sips on his beer.

His gaze wanders around the bar, watching various groups of laughing, chattering humans. The music is playing low enough that he can’t quite make out what song it playing, an anonymous bass line filling the space and making him feel like he’s low-key vibrating. His beer is gone and he’s debating following the other two up to the bar when David comes back up to their table, beer for Patrick and glass of wine balanced in his hands and cocky smile on his face, while Stevie slinks up behind him, pouting.

“How’d it go,” Patrick asks, his voice light as he reaches out to grab the beer David is holding. Stevie glowers at him but manages to make her way unsteadily back into her seat, jutting her chin in David’s direction.

“Ask him.”

David’s eyebrows lift in mock surprise as he puts a hand against his chest. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, shut up," Stevie mumbles, letting her head fall forward onto the table. Patrick pats her gently on the back while David makes a tiny disgusted sound at the idea of bare skin on the scuffed table. Patrick just looks at David, eyes owlish, and he mouths 'what happened?'

David reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a cocktail napkin. He does a happy little shimmy-dance when he sets it down in the middle of the table. Patrick’s face pinches a little and he takes a long pull off his beer bottle before he speaks again. “And that would be…?”

“His number,” Stevie drawls, adding a few unnecessary ‘s’s and refusing to pick her head up from the crook of her arms. “David got his number.”

“For the record, it’s not my fault he took one look at me and decided he just couldn’t be bothered anymore.”

“And the fact that you complimented his Kenzo jeans had nothing to do with it?” The look Stevie gives him when she manages to get her head off her arms is about three steps shy of withering, but David can feel the intent there.

David rolls his eyes. “How often do I come across someone with half an ounce of style within a hundred mile radius?”

“Aw, thanks babe,” Patrick leans over and kisses him on the cheek, which brings all the blood rushing to David’s cheek and he bites down on the inside of his lip. “Tell me,” Patrick says low in David’s ear. “At any point during the mood boarding, did you happen to mention that you were here with your husband.”

“Exactly!” Stevie practically shouts, her arm waving in the air and pointing at David menacingly. “I told you it wasn’t fair.”

“What’s fair? I didn’t ask for his number!” David’s voice rises quickly and his hands are flying. Patrick takes a deep breath — he’s been in-between a drunk David and Stevie enough time to know exactly where this is going, and he finishes off his second beer quickly, setting it down with a clink and kissing David lightly on the cheek.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he says to no one in particular as David and Stevie continue to go back and forth about the bartender and the egality of drunken phone number acquisition. 

Patrick takes his time, the heavy wood of the bathroom door muffling the sound of the bar so thoroughly, it’s almost peaceful. Patrick finishes and splashes water on his face, across the back of his neck. He’s making his way back to the table when he sees that David and Stevie are still gesturing at each other aggressively enough that he’s going to need reinforcements. So he spins on his heel and heads to the bar instead. 

Even if there hadn't only been two bartenders working, Patrick would have had no problem figuring out who it was Stevie and David were bickering over. He was bent over the bar, speaking into the ear of a brunette woman who is grinning and looking at him like she wants to eat him for breakfast. She puts a long-fingered hand on his forearm and Patrick watches the way he smiles fondly before pulling back by a few inches. The girl pulls her hand back and uses it to tuck a piece of hair behind her ears. He slides her an open beer from below the bar and she takes it with a small nod, sliding a bill across the bar. Patrick slips into her spot and sidles up the bar as soon as she leaves.

“What can I get for you?” There’s a subtle British accent to his voice, and when he smiles at Patrick it feels feral in a way it hadn’t when he’d been talking to the brunette.

“Can I get a beer, please, and a white wine spritzer?” 

“ ‘Course. They seem to be selling a lot tonight,” he smiles at Patrick as he slides a $20 across the bar and waits for his drinks.

“Yeah, you serve the last one to my husband.” The bartender seems to pause in his step and turns around slowly, face chagrined. 

“Sorry about that,” he hesitates and Patrick waives hand through the air. 

“It's really not a problem. I married him, after all, can't say that I blame you.”

The bartender smirks and goes back to grabbing the beer and the white wine. He’s popping the top and pouring a little bit of club soda into the glass when he looks up and makes eye contact with Patrick. “You know, this may be forward of me, and your husband's really hot, but if you'd come to the bar it would've been a much harder choice."

Patrick blushes and hides his smile behind a pull on his beer bottle. "I'm Patrick."

"Lovely to meet you, Patrick," he smirks and shakes his hand. He’s got a firm grip and his hands are dry and warm, except for the portion of each finger wrapped in a different ring. Their handshake lasts just a beat too long and then Patrick puts his hand in his back pocket, running his eyes up and down what he can see of the other man’s body behind the bar. The bartender is easy on the eyes — he can understand why David is interested. There's something about him that reminds him of David, actually, something almost ethereal in the way he moves, in the way the metal glints on his hands and the way his hair is long and kind of falls in one of his eyes so Patrick isn't entirely sure what he’s looking at. 

Before he can stop himself his mind conjures a picture of this man spread out on their blue cotton sheets at home, his face contorted in a way that looks a little like the way David's does when he comes. Patrick shakes his head but the image won't leave and before he can stop to second-guess what he’s about to do, he leans across the bar and lowers his own voice so that the bartender has to lean in to hear him. He smells like peppermint and juniper and it makes Patrick think of the mountains.

“I really appreciate that you gave David your number. It means a lot to him, to be noticed like that.”

The bartender smiles. “Well, he’s noticeable. I just kinda feel bad for that girl he came up with, she seemed kind of upset about it.”

Patrick winces. “That’s Stevie. It's a thing with the two of them, I wouldn't worry about it.”

“If you say so. How about this — drinks are on the house tonight. Consider it an ‘I'm sorry’ for hitting on your husband.” 

Patrick takes his $20 back and slips it into his back pocket. “You know, if you really want to make it up to us, I can think of another way.” It feels awkward, like bad porn dialogue, and Patrick's never propositioned another person. There’s a voice in his head that’s shouting at him to take it all back, to turn around and walk away and take David home, just like they’d planned. But he remembers their conversation about Ken, about the experiences that exist in the world that Patrick hasn’t had the chance to experience yet. And he doesn’t want to lose the game because he never even bothered playing. He’s not really sure this is the best time, or the best place, but the words are already out his mouth. The blood fills his cheeks and his face is hot, but the bartender looks him up and down, slowly, before crossing his arms and leaning over the bar.

“I’m off in an hour. What exactly did you have in mind?” Patrick’s head is spinning, but the outline of a plan is already beginning to take shape in his mind. 

*

When he gets back to the table, David and Stevie are hugging, arms wrapped around each other's necks, and it looks like they're only seconds away from both bursting into sobs. Patrick claps his hands loudly and says, “Okay, all right, time to go! Let’s pack up this party and head home!”

David finishes the white wine that's in his glass and holds out his hand for the drink Patrick should have with him. Only, Patrick’s hands are empty and he nods at Stevie in a way that mean she should go ahead and finish up the drinks she’s got. 

“But the dancing,” David whines, and Patrick does a quick count of the shot glasses on the table. He leans forward and kisses David, the sour taste of wine still on his lips. When Patrick looks at him again, there’s a fire in his eyes that makes David’s body go still. “You remember that do-over we were talking about a few months ago? The Ken one?” Patrick’s talking with his eyes as much as he’s talking with his mouth, and David's face goes perfectly still. His eyes widen and Patrick can feel the energy in his body tense. Patrick smiles a little smile, a private smile, and for a minute he forgets that they're in a bar full of people and Stevie is watching from only a seat away. “I think I just found our do-over.”

David rockets to his feet unsteadily, grabbing Stevie by the hand and pulling her towards the exit as quickly as possible while she attempts to shove two more shots of down her throat. “Party’s over, Stevie.”

“But dancing,” she slurs, and David affects a huge yawn.

“Okay. But. I’m really tired, and since I already got a guy’s number, it’s time to go home.”

"You can't even use it," she pouts, turning angry eyes at David. He gives a little shrug but then looks at Patrick and smiles a smile that makes it very clear that they're going to be getting some use out of it. Stevie looks back and forth between them and huffs, slamming her arms at her sides and stopping just short of stomping her foot.

"Aw, come on! That's not fair, you're already married you can get dick whenever". Patrick laughs and wraps an arm around her shoulder, walking them slowly towards the door.

"I'm sorry did you just say 'get dick'?"

"Come on, David, leave her alone." Patrick looks at him and winks. "She's right."

They both groan as they step into the cool night air. Patrick kisses Stevie on the temple and promises her a – okay, two – cases of wine from the store the next day as an apology. Stevie doesn't look mollified, but she sets her head on David's shoulder the minute they're in the Uber.

They drop Stevie off first. Patrick drums his hand against his knees without stopping, and when David slips their hands together he squeezes hard, “you okay?” Patrick can’t find the words, but he smiles and puts his head on David’s shoulder. The ride home doesn't take as long as Patrick thinks it should, and all the sudden it's him and David and they're standing in the entryway to their apartment. The minutes are ticking by and David is looking at Patrick like he has no idea what's about to happen next, which is fair because neither does Patrick.

Patrick takes a step forward and takes David's face in his hand. He makes him meet his eye, both trying to determine how sober he is and making sure they're both still on the same page.

"Hey," David says, eyes mostly clear and bright. He seems steadier on his feet than he had an hour ago, which made Patrick feel better.

"Hey," he says with a kiss. "You sure you still want to do this?"

David takes both of Patrick's hands in his. "If you are comfortable with this, I am comfortable with this," he says without a hint of slur. Patrick's smile is shy until David kisses it in to a grin. There's a knock on the door and David opens it with a smile, his eyes raking over the body of the bartender standing in the doorway. He's tall ‐ taller than Patrick, but not quite as tall as David, and he's thin. Patrick can already see the way his hip bones jut out from above his waistband. His shirt is white and billowy, pulled open a bit at the neck, and Patrick can see a series of chest tattoos that range from his collarbone down to below the V of the shirt's buttons. His hair is still mussed, still long, still falling in a way that it obscures his eyes, but there's something about it here in the apartment that looks different than it did in the bar. He looks sweeter, more vulnerable. He comes inside and Patrick closes the door behind him. He turns to make the introductions and can already see the heat in Nathan's gaze.

"David, this is Nathan. Nathan, you already know David."

"It's nice to meet you, David," Nathan says, and the vowels roll around his mouth slowly, like poured honey. He hasn't been drinking, he just got off the clock, but Patrick doesn't think it's entirely the accent either. There's something about this man's voice that sounds that way, that sounds like velvet and compassion. They shake hands and then both drop them immediately, putting their hands in their pockets in a mirrored action. It'd make Patrick laugh, if this whole moment didn't seem so incredibly, inscrutably awkward. What seemed like a sexy proposition in the dim lights of the bar suddenly become a very stark, awkward reality here in the light of their apartment. 

David shakes his hand in a lingering way, letting his fingers trail along the inside of Nathan's wrist. "Nice to meet you properly, Nathan."

Then silence falls and stretches between them indefinitely. Patrick is just about to cancel the whole endeavor when Nathan takes a step forward and put his palm against Patrick's cheek. He looks at Patrick, "is this okay?" 

Patrick meets David's eyes. David, who is looking at him with awe, like he can't believe this is actually happening. He sees the question in Patrick's eyes and nods almost imperceptibly. Patrick leans his hand into Nathan's cheek and smiles wolfishly.

Nathan doesn't wait for an answer, leaning down and pressing his lips to Patrick's softly. It's so much different than kissing David; Nathan's lips are thinner than David's, his fingers not as long when they wrap into the short hairs at the base of Patrick's neck. Nathan pulls Patrick's head back to kiss him deeper, and it aches a bit in a way that's new for Patrick. He makes a noise that's half gasp, half moan, and David's breath hitches in response. Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick can see David’s chest rising and falling, can see him adjust his pants as his erection grows. Patrick leans into the kiss and bites down gently on Nathan’s lip, just to watch the way it makes David’s eyes go wide, makes him lick his lips. “Get over here,” he says huskily, and then David is there with them, the three of them pressing their bodies together and Nathan licks into Patrick’s mouth and David puts his hands on Nathan’s hips, kissing the back of his neck. Nathan’s weight shifts so that he’s still kissing Patrick, but he’s leaning his weight back against David’s chest and they stay like that, suspended, until Patrick’s dick is starting to ache and his lips are raw.

“Bedroom,” he says gruffly during a brief break in the kiss. Nathan takes a minute to step backwards, letting his body stay crowded against Patrick’s. It’s another thing that’s different, the way that Nathan takes a beat before listening to him, pushes back on the things he’s asked for, has demanded. It’s thrilling, almost, to feel like he’s not in charge. And it’s not that he’s never done that with David, it’s just that, well. It’s different, and he doesn’t hate different. 

As soon as Nathan gives him enough room, he reaches around him and grabs David’s hand. He smashes their face together into a bruising kiss, and feels Nathan’s finger slip into the belt loop of his jeans, following them as Patrick backs David up through the bedroom doorway, pressing him backwards until his calves hit the bed and he drops. Patrick stands there, staring down at David, as Nathan wraps his arms around Patrick’s chest and kisses him on the neck. His thin fingers come around the front and begins to unbutton Patrick’s shirt. He shivers when the cool metal on Nathan’s fingers brush against the planes of his chest.

“David,” his voice breaks on the name. “Pants off.” David’s leaning back on his forearms, watching Nathan’s hands travel over Patrick’s body, and he doesn’t break the eye contact as he lowers himself backwards, unbuttoning his pants and shimmying his hips until they slip down his legs and land on the floor. Patrick steps between David’s legs, nudging his knees apart until he’s practically spread eagle.

Nathan licks up the shell of Patrick’s ear and whispers, “he’s beautiful.”

“I know.”

Nathan puts a finger under Patrick’s chin and turns his head enough to kiss him deeply, tongue licking into the back of Patrick’s mouth as his fingers make their way to the button on Patrick’s jeans. He pops it open and Patrick feels the pressure on his growing erection lessen. One hand reaches into Patrick’s pants as the other comes to rest at the base of his neck, fingers wrapped gently and resting on the pulse point. His thumb flicks over the damp spot on the front of Patrick’s maroon boxer-briefs, and he lets out a low whine as he makes eye contact with David.

David, who is still wearing his sweater, the grey and black winged number that has always been Patrick’s favorite. It reminds him of angels, and songbirds. He’s pulled the sweater up his chest and his playing with his nipples, one hand stroking himself slowly. It’s filthy, and precious, and it’s a sight Patrick could see a million times a day and never, ever get tired of.

And this time, he’s watching it with another set of hands pulling gently at his balls, nuzzling his ear and sucking softly at his neck. “Condom, love?”

Patrick panics for a second — he and David haven’t used condoms together since the wedding, but David answers for him, his voice strained. “Left bedside table, second drawer in the back. Lube is in the top drawer.” Nathan leaves Patrick to go grab supplies, and the cold air rushes in to fill the space he occupied. Patrick leans over David and kisses him, deep and slow, fucking into his mouth with his tongue, his hands to either side of David’s head, boxing him in. He’s still bent over when Nathan returns, running a hand over his hip and across the swell of his ass.

He eases Patrick’s jeans the rest of the way down his legs, taking his no underwear along with it. Nathan grips his ankles lightly to keep him from falling over as he steps out of the pile of clothes, then puts a hand in-between his shoulder blades to ease him back into his bent over position.

He's too high up David's body to do much more than kiss him, and that's not going to satisfy him for much longer. "Wait," he says quietly, and is relieved when Nathan's hands immediately drop away from Patrick and he takes a step back.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just – David, scoot up."

It takes him a second, a longer second than Patrick feels like waiting, and he leans down to nip at the top of David's shoulder. He bites hard enough that he can feel the imprint his teeth leave. David yelps, but hustles up the bed until he's almost sitting against the headboard. It's maybe not the most ideal, but after a few more seconds of rearranging pillows, David is relaxed and Patrick's face is buried in his crotch.

He takes a deep breath and inhales the scent of David, pulls him into his lungs until he feels like he's drowning in him. Behind him, he hears the soft click of the lube bottle opening and then Nathan's hands are on him, one hand gripping his hip firmly while the other begins to trace around Patrick's hole with one slick finger. Patrick keens, and he hears Nathan chuckle. "All good babe?"

Patrick nods against David's hip and then kisses the tip of his cock, tiny pink tongue darting out to lick along the slit. David grinds up against his cheek, and in a flood of new sensations, this is endearingly familiar. He puts a forearm across David’s lower belly and a small growl escapes his lips, “hold still.” David’s body goes still, but his hands make their way onto the top of Patrick’s head. Not gripping, not pulling, just resting. Patrick smiles and begins to lick David from root to tip, swirling his tongue at the top.

“Fucking hell,” Nathan says as he presses a finger into Patrick, pulling it back out before inserting a second finger alongside it. It’s a lot, more than Patrick is used to taking so fast, but Nathan is moving so slowly, Patrick can feel the stretch, and the burn rides that perfect knife edge between pleasure and pain. He focuses his attention on David, swallowing him down an inch at a time, letting his throat relax at the same time that he sinks back further on Nathan’s fingers.

He’s got David’s cock buried in his throat when Nathan adds a third finger and begins to scissor him open. Patrick moans around David, saliva dripping down his chin, and it’s filthy and wet and Patrick is loving every second of it. He hollows out his cheeks and wraps a fist around David, sucking on the head, hearing his breath grow fast and ragged.

Nathan pulls his fingers out and Patrick feels empty, hollowed out in a way he's never liked, but then he hears the rip of a condom wrapper and Nathan's heat is behind him again, pressing into him, and it's...something. Something different, yet familiar, a cover of a favorite song that he's just now recognizing. Nathan is bigger than David, but not as long and he can't quite seem to hit his prostate the way David does; but his hands never stop moving across Patrick's back and he's murmuring 'gorgeous...so fucking beautiful...that's right, babe' like he doesn't think anyone can hear him, fucking into Patrick with a relentless rhythm that he falls into like a dance.

David's hand wraps into his hair and pulls twice, their signal, and Patrick stops immediately, lifting his arm and letting David fuck up into his face until he comes. Patrick swallows as much of David as he can, but he misses some when Nathan fucks into him particularly hard, and then his David's dick is out of his mouth and David is sliding out from underneath him. Patrick wants to protest, wants to feel David’s weight and warmth underneath him, but then David’s hand is wrapped around his dick, pumping in time with Nathan’s rhythm, and Patrick sees white and comes with a scream. He hears a sharp gasp of breath and a single grunt when Nathan comes, and he slows his rhythm to nurse Patrick through the aftershocks. He whimpers a bit when Nathan pulls out, but Nathan pats him once gently on the hip and then kisses David on the cheek as he carefully takes off the condom and tucks himself back into his pants.

Patrick feels his body go limp, his muscles full of post-orgasm cement, and he stands unsteadily, elated when David’s strong arms wrap around him and hug him tightly. He’s whispering into Patrick’s ear, words pouring out at a million miles an hour, how good Patrick was and how much he loves him, how glad he is that this happened. Patrick just nods and presses a tender kiss to his neck, right on top of his pulse point. David helps him into bed, and Patrick is just snuggling into the duvet when Nathan appears at the end of the bed again. 

“I’m gonna go, Patrick. This was a trip. Thank you,”

“You’re welcome,” David says from the doorway behind them, laughter in his voice. “Let me walk you out, Nathan.”

Patrick looks up at Nathan with a dreamy smile and tries to think of the right thing to say. Of anything to say. But Nathan doesn’t look like he’s expecting anything, and he winks at him before walking away and following David out of the room. He hears the sound of water being poured in the kitchen, and a few minutes later the gentle open and close of the door, and then David slips in bed beside him.

“Hey,” David says quietly, pressing a series of kisses along the back of Patrick’s shoulders. “How are you?”

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” He pulls David’s arms around him and is asleep in seconds.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "What's Your Fantasy" by Ludacris, and you're welcome for the earworm


End file.
